Harbour Falls (A Harbour Falls Mystery #1)(10)

I hurried back down the stairs, locked up, and went out the back door. The small lawn in the back, perched high above the sea, offered a sweeping view of the ocean below. It was magnificent, if not a little daunting when nearing the edge. Several maple saplings lined the south end of the yard, their fiery red, orange, and yellow leaves made more vivid by a palette of violet hues in the early evening sky.

I turned toward the north end of the lawn where the forest trees were no less vibrant—but much taller and imposing—than their younger counterparts across the property. There was a break in the tree line where a dirt path winded its way through the forest. It appeared to head north along the high cliffs above the sea.

I rocked back and forth on my heels, contemplating my next move. No time like the present for a little exploring, right?



I glanced back at the cottage, tucked my house key into a small pocket in my pants, and then started to jog along the path. I considered going back to grab my IPod but quickly squashed the idea. As I headed deeper and deeper into the woods, the sounds of birds chirping, the crashing of the waves on the rocks below, and my own footfalls lulled me into a sense of peacefulness. A sort of zone. Soon I completely lost track of time.

Darkness crept in, the birds silenced. The trees closed in on me like a crowd closing in on a guilty party. Low-hanging branches scraped at my bare arms, making me cry out. My pulse raced as my dad’s words echoed in my mind: Just don’t get into any trouble out here, OK?



Yeah, that was going well. Just as panic began to set in, I spotted an end to the trail. Breathing a sigh of relief, I sprinted ahead to escape the blackness of the forest. Maybe I’ll come out on the main road, I thought.

But that was asking too much. The trail dumped me out onto a luxurious, meticulously manicured piece of property that very obviously belonged to Adam Ward. And here I was, the newest resident on the island—his island—trespassing on his private property. Not exactly subtle.



A huge wood and stone contemporary home, with a low-pitched roof and endless walls of windows, stood before me. The house was nestled in the forest, but the surrounding trees were not nearly as dense as the ones I’d just traveled through. A few lights were on inside, and a black Porsche was parked outside the front entrance. Shit, that means he’s most likely home. This is definitely bad.

The driveway curved off into another portion of the woods. I was sure it led to the main road, but I had no way of knowing how far I’d have to travel to reach it. The idea of getting caught traipsing down Adam’s driveway was appalling. But so was the thought of going back into the heart of the forest. To make matters worse, the air had grown chilly now that the sun was down. I wrapped my arms around myself and bounced up and down on my toes to keep warm. I knew I couldn’t stand here forever staring at Adam’s house—like some kind of a crazed stalker—so I decided to make a run for the driveway, crossing my fingers that I’d not get caught.

Just as I was about to step out of the darkness of the trees, the front door of the house opened, and the man I’d hoped to avoid—Adam Ward—walked out. I took a step back and stood frozen as I watched him descend the front steps, walking—no, striding— to his Porsche.

Tall and still lean but definitely more muscular. A man now, no longer a boy. Dressed in faded jeans and a pale blue button-down, untucked with the sleeves casually rolled up his forearms, he made his way to his car. The soft lights emanating from his home illuminated his slightly tousled raven hair, but his face remained shadowed. He retrieved a briefcase from the passenger side of the car, and then he straightened, the light hitting him in just the right way. Oh my. My memory had not done him justice, he was much…hotter. Still as gorgeous as ever with the same strong jaw, aquiline nose, full lips, but there was something more. Something indefinable, something feral that called to my basest instincts like a siren song.



A loud, cracking noise—like a branch breaking—came from the woods behind me, and I was reminded of the situation at hand. Adam had been on his way back into the house, but now he stopped and looked in my direction. My heart pounded fiercely; I feared it could be heard. Holding my breath and squeezing my eyes shut for a beat, I desperately prayed Adam would just go back in the damn house, so I could make my escape.

The seconds crept by slowly, and finally Adam relaxed his posture. He started back up the front steps, his stride as cool and confident as ever. As he disappeared behind the closing door, I let out my breath in a big whoosh of air. That was close.

Then, with no warning, a large, calloused hand closed over my mouth. My scream was effectively muffled, and I promptly lost consciousness.





I woke up feeling, strangely enough, warm and comfortable. Snuggling deeper into the surface I was laying on, so buttery soft, I inhaled deeply. A spicy, masculine aroma, with just a hint of laundry detergent, filled my nose. I pulled the source of this appealing scent—some kind of fabric draped over my shoulder—to my face and drank it in.

A soft chuckle came from behind my curled-up form. My eyes flew open. I stared blankly at the pale blue material—a shirt of some sort—in my hand. What the?

All at once the events of the evening came back to me in a rush of jumbled images. I quickly rolled away from the back of the black leather sofa I was on and almost tumbled to the floor. Sitting up abruptly, the shirt fell to my lap.